


The Time Has Come

by ScribeOfReaper



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fight against the Infernian, Fire, Gen, Iggy is not what he seems, lots of fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 11:05:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15580572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeOfReaper/pseuds/ScribeOfReaper
Summary: He’s waiting for them, standing before the steps leading to the Citadel as though they were a stage.





	The Time Has Come

**Author's Note:**

> Another offering for the epic challenge my friends set me on our FFXV chat.  
> Hope you enjoy.

He’s waiting for them, standing before the steps leading to the Citadel as though they were a stage.

As soon as they enter the plaza, he walks forward to meet them. Each step is measured and slow, but the arrogance that pervades his very stance speaks only of mockery and disregard for the rightful Monarch’s approach.

The darkness gathers behind him, clinging to him like a well-worn cloak as he raises his arms in a stilted motion of greeting.

“Ifrit, the Infernian. He doesn’t share the Glacian’s fondness for mankind.”

His lips quirk to the side in a broken mask of a smirk that fails to reach his eyes.

“But you can expect a…warm welcome.”

They half expect a deranged laugh to accompany the strange performance, but instead he merely cants his head to the right as he nods to himself.

“I shall await you…above.” With a callous wave over his shoulder, he turns his back to them. Finally, the last remnants of his jester façade seem to fade from his form. The change is so subtle, a mere roll of his shoulders and the slightest straightening of his spine, and suddenly it is quite believable that this man, this creature, had once been chosen to ascend the throne.

The darkness that clung to the usurper charges forward, enveloping the scene only to be swallowed up itself by the intense flames that roar to life before them.

From those flames the outline of a figure begins to emerge, sat upon a throne of burnt wood, his chin resting against his fist in a gesture of utter disinterest.

The Infernian ascends.

* * *

 

The taste of ozone on his tongue, the smell of smoke, the heat of the flames caressing his skin, and the feeling of unrestrained power that hangs in the very air he breathes.

All of these sensations are familiar, so very familiar, but the sour tang of scourge that accompanies all of them is sickening. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise as another wave of heat rolls over him. It is a mere echo of what it should be, of what it had been, of what he was supposed—

He cuts that thought off before he can finish it. What point is there to dwell on past mistakes when before him lies a chance to erase the embodiment of his predecessors’ failure?

The soft sound of shifting fabric alerts him to his brother’s movements. Noct leads the way; his strides sound confident yet cautious as he takes his first few steps. It would appear that at least some of his warnings—nagging, the others would say—had not been in vain.

“Stay cool—he’s gonna bring the heat.” In a well-versed habit, Ignis finds himself adjusting his glasses in a way that allows him to cover the unintentional smirk that Noct’s quip has sparked. It seems ten years in the realm of the Astrals has done nothing to rid him of his talent for bad one-liners. The thought is comforting, in its own way: despite everything Noct is still Noct.

The shift of heavy leather boots on cracked tarmac and the sudden deflection of heated air lets him know that Gladio has come to stand beside Noct. Matching his pace but allowing Noct to still have the lead.

Prompto’s position is simple enough to guess—the subtle scent of gun oil that clings to him is easily tracked. This, accompanied by the gunman’s light but swift footsteps that fall into line just beside Gladio’s, allow Ignis to create a perfect mental image of the battlefield they are about to enter.

How he wishes he couldn’t.

The dark reflection that appears within his mind’s eye is a broken shadow of what the plaza had once been. Though all the lamps encircling the plaza are lit, the lights still fail against the slick tendrils of darkness that curl around them. Slowly, one by one, the lights themselves seem to surrender to the darkness as they too are corrupted by the scourge that taints Eos. There is little evidence of rubble or other damage, but a fine layer of plasmodium covers everything, twisting it even as it looks unchanged. Nothing, not even this hollow reflection, can escape the ruin that seeks to paint the world black. The same can be said for the flames that surround the Infernian who stands between them and the Citadel.

He shakes his head in order to dislodge the shadowed image that dances within his darkened vision and falls into line with his brothers.

He barely takes his first step before he senses it. A sudden change in the air as the endless waves of heat that ripple across the expanse disperse all at once, leaving a void in their wake that is waiting to be filled.

In that one moment everything changes.

The sound of brittle bark crumbling as the weight that has supressed it rises is accompanied by a spike in temperature that seems to scorch Ignis’s throat with each breath he takes.

“Get back!”

His next move is done without thought: seizing Noct’s shoulder, he steps forward, drawing level in an instant, and intersects the path Noct was about to take. The action doesn’t even cause Noct to stumble; he instinctively steps back and to the side to compensate, a habit learned from the sheer number of times Ignis has chosen to intervene before a battle.

This time Ignis doesn’t stop with merely forcing Noct to pause before he charges headlong into the fray. With all his strength he forces Noct back; he hears a quick intake of breath followed by the sound of a light impact and fabric scratching against harsh stone, but they soon fade. They along with everything else are engulfed by the torrent of flames that overtake him.

Time, sound, thought, and his own resolve. These concepts all become meaningless in the face of the pain that overtakes him. They fade into the background, submerged by the wave of raw instinct that arises in a last-ditch effort to simply survive.

For an instant he allows his rationality to falter; he allows his impulse to overtake his senses all in an attempt to escape this endless moment.

That is, until he hears them.

“Ignis! Let go, Gladio!”

Noct’s voice hoarse and broken fighting to get to him.

“Its too late! There’s nothing we can do!”

Gladio choking on his own logic as he holds Noct back.

“No! This can’t be happening!”

Prompto pleading even as he empties his gun.

Even through the haze of pain he hears them. Their struggles to reach him, their fight to protect what remains, and their determination to fight on.

A determination that he still feels.

He stands. He can’t remember falling to his knees, but he is disgusted at the very notion of the image of him kneeling before the fallen Astral.

The flames still surround him, shrinking his perception of the world, the burning leather of his Crownsguard attire, the cracking glass of his darkened visor, and the blistering intensity of the flames that swirl around him seeking to reduce him to nothing.

No strategy can save him now, no knowledge he possesses can aid him against the hellfire which rains down upon him. It is unlike anything he has ever known…

…Wait.

That’s wrong.

He has felt this power before. Or, more accurately, one very similar to it.

It is not something a mere mortal not chosen by the Crystal should ever try to touch, let alone attempt to subjugate.

That is what he is: mortal, weak, corruptible, and so easily reduced to naught but ash.

No…that is not true.

He shudders as the alien thoughts continue to flit across his mind, tearing at his memories, trying to distort them.

Pulling into himself, he tries to create a distance between himself and the fragmented emotions that seek to taint him. The slightest flicker of amusement traces across his mind at his attempt to shield his consciousness.

Ifrit…

Ignis is suddenly hit with the distinct realisation that were he not blind he would be able to see a smirk cracking the Infernian’s previously stoic visage.

It would seem that some vestiges of consciousness still reside within the enslaved husk that seems bent on reducing him to mere dust in the wind.

He can feel his scars burning as the trails left by the Crystal’s power are set ablaze once more. He hears his visor finally shatter, but he barely feels it as the broken shards are swept away. He blinks, trying to discern some meaning from the light that has consumed his darkened vision, but all he can focus on is the pain of his flesh slowly turning to ash.

It’s so much worse than he remembers, this agony that consumes him, compromising his thoughts and overriding his senses. How can he overcome it, how can he even endure it? He grits his teeth, shoving away the doubt that seeks to undermine his resolve. How can he allow himself to fall when he has accomplished nothing?

He has never been helpless—he’s not going to start now.

He takes a step forward, only to stumble when the Hellfire that surrounds him is suddenly replaced by cool air, which he gasps like a drowning man. He was drowning, but in flames, not in water, and the pain is so much worse because of it. His knees hit the ground once more, and this time he is not surprised at all. He braces himself on his clenched fists, simply focusing on his breathing as he forces the last of the Infernian’s invasive emotions from his mind.

“Iggy! Hold on!” Prompto’s hands tamp down on the small flames that still cling to him before alighting gently on his shoulders, pushing Ignis back. He is still kneeling, but breathing is easier now, relieving some of the pain.

“Noct, Gladio, keep him busy!” Cool glass is pressed into his hand—an elixir by the shape of the bottle; to think that Prompto actually still had one after all this time—he crushes it without even having to be told to do so, feeling the splintered fragments slipping through his fingers, but the expected wave of relief never comes.

He can feel the elixir take effect, its cool tendrils lapping at his wounds, but it does nothing. The feeling of his wounds knitting back together is there, but it’s superficial; beneath his skin, flames still tear through his blood. He can’t stop the hand that reaches up to cover his eyes or the gasp that manages to escape past his clenched teeth, but the sound is lost amongst the distant roar of swinging blades and roaring flames.

“We have to move.” Prompto’s voice sounds far away, but he’s right, and Ignis does his best to fight against the tide of agony that seeks to pull him back under. He can feel Prompto move to his side, shifting Ignis’ own arm so it rests over his shoulder. Ignis braces himself for the fresh onset of nerve-searing pain, but it never comes.

 “N-Noooooocccccct!”

The cry is piercing—more a fractured howl than a cry—it cuts through the haze weighing Ignis down and without thought he raises his head, searching for its cause.

He blinks, flinching away from the light which once again invades the darkness that has dominated his vision for over a decade, but what he sees within that light forces him to look back. His visor is gone, robbing him of the comforting shadows that had shielded his scarred eyes, but he cares not for the discomfort that assaults him. Not with the sight that plays out before him.

Noct is held within the grasp of the Infernian; his raiment’s provide some protection against the flames, but against the tightening grip that encloses his chest they can do nothing. The gaze that Ifrit assesses Noct with as he continues to struggle is one of complete disinterest, and yet the grip still tightens.

“ENOUGH!”

Fire, fierce and raging, tears through the scene, rending the very air with its heat. It is not the savage crimson blaze summoned with the fallen Astral’s ascent, but rather deep azure flames that sweep across the field.

He feels Prompto shift, lurching forward in an aborted attempt to run forward, only to stop short as he stares at Ignis.

“Iggy, your eyes…”

He pays Prompto’s statement little attention as he leaps forward; in a move he has not used since Altissa, he brings all his fury to bear on the corrupt God. The sound of steal clashing against bone gives way to a sickening crunch as his target crumbles beneath him.

Landing, he spares no time to inspect the damage he has inflicted.

“Noct, can you hear me?” He crouches beside his liege, reaching to turn him over, but Noct is already forcing himself to stand.

“Look out!”

Gladio body tackles them both, sending all three skidding to the ground, not a moment too soon as a great sword splits the tainted marble that had lain beneath their feet.

With barely enough time to gain his bearing, Ignis shields Noct while at the same time trying to disentangle himself from the unfortunate dogpile he had found himself in. Not that he is complaining since the only other apparent option had involved him and Noct being cleaved in two by a particularly irate Infernian. An Infernian who is now missing a horn.

The great sword is raised, flames gathering from tip to hilt until the entire blade is sheathed in fire. Gladio raises his shield, prepared to take the strike. All for naught as the trajectory of the falling blade suddenly changes, deflecting to the right but still grazing Gladio’s shield, leaving deep smouldering rifts in the tempered steel.

It is only when the ring of the steel fades that they hear the gunshots.

“Guys! Over here!” Prompto waves to them from where he stands behind a strategically placed stone blockade disguised as a simple architectural choice.

Seizing Noct, Ignis forces him toward Prompto as he and Gladio prepare to guard their retreat. “Quickly! Before he strikes again!”

He notes, with more than slight irritation, that Noct chooses not to warp as he retreats, keeping just enough distance so that were the fighting to break out again he would be right back in the thick of it in mere steps. Unwilling to allow that scenario, Ignis moves to Noct’s side, trusting Gladio to bring up the rear.

Prompto continues to cover their retreat, only ducking behind the stone block when a blind swipe is taken at him by the Infernian. It gives the others time to drop behind the relative safety of the stone monument. A decision that proves to be the wisest as the Infernian unleashes a new wave of flame, this one stronger than the last as it rips across the plaza, levelling everything but the hardened marble they take cover behind. Even so, the force of the attack seeks to drag them out; it is only Gladio’s strength that shields them, anchoring them where they lie huddled behind the stone.

The inferno unleashed upon them finally ebbs, leaving all four of them gasping for breath. Even so, they have enough time to recover and to gather themselves before the next attack.

Checking his gun, Prompto turns to the others. “So, I know we have a scourgified angry Astral still to deal with, but does nobody else want to talk about why Iggy’s eyes are glowing or how he just shot blue fire without a magic flask?”

“I hardly think now is the time, Prompto.” Ignis very consciously does not snap.

“Now might be the only time,” Gladio puts in his two gil, and Ignis cannot suppress his urge to glare this time.

“I’m just saying. Prompto’s right, we’re up against a daemonic version of an Astral here. If you’ve got any tricks up your sleeve, Iggy, now’s the time to use them.”

“Be that as it may, as you both pointed out, dealing with the Infernian takes priority.”

Dismissing the others’ protests, he turns to Noct, only to stop when he notices the look Noct is giving him.

“You can see.”

Ignis blinks, caught quite off guard by the statement, only to see the darkness he has become accustomed to return to him for just an instant before opening his eyes and, for the first time in ten years, truly seeing.

“Oh, so I can.”

“You didn’t notice!”

“I was caught up in the heat of the moment.”

The half-choked sound that escapes Noct can only be a desperately smothered laugh. Prompto’s covering his mouth, but the shaking of his shoulders is an easy tell of his own suppressed laughter. Gladio appears to be the only one not amused; his hand comes up to rub at his eyes as he groans. “I think you broke them, Iggy.”

“Pretty sure it’s the world that’s broken, dude, not us,” Prompto gasps between snickering breaths.

Gladio smiles, not bothering to suppress his own bark of laughter. “You might be right there, kid.”

Ignis is smiling, but as he blinks he finds himself surprised by the sudden feeling of wetness as a tear rolls down his cheek. It’s unexpected; he’s never been one to allow his emotions to overcome him, but with everything that’s happened and with everything yet to come…his brothers can still laugh.

Perhaps the world is not so lost after all.

He shakes himself as he shields his eyes; with one swipe the tears are gone, and his vision is clear once more. Well, almost clear—it appears that not even the powers of the divine can wipe away the imperfections his vision has always carried. Thank the Astrals he always comes prepared.

From the pocket of his jacket he retrieves a small, unassuming black leather case, and with practised ease he flips the lid and removes the glasses that rest within. Clarity in all its perfection finally returns to Ignis’s world.

Noct’s hand comes to rest gently on his shoulder. “Nice to have you back, Specs.”

It is only when he finally looks at Noct that Ignis realises that all this time he was picturing the young man whom he had first set out from Insomnia with. Even when Gladio and Prompto had tried to describe how Noct had grown, still the image of the young Prince he remembered had been clearest in his mind. Now all he can think is how much Noct resembles his father.

“It’s good to be back.”

With a nod Noct stands, one last steadying breath as he summons the Blade of the Father to his hand. “Let’s do this.”

Light, crystalline and dazzling, surrounds him, coalescing into the forms of the legendary weapons of the Kings of old.

They charge.

Blood, fire, ash, and smoke, all sense of thought is lost within the tide of battle, swept away with each swing of the Infernian’s sword. The moves are desperate, savage, and wild, like a wounded beast lashing out at anything that moves. Each strike from the Armiger weakens the corrupt Astral a little more.

It all comes to a head when their combined assault brings the Infernian to his knees—that’s when they hear her.

“Pyreburner.

That heart of flame was turned to ash once…

A dead fire must burn no more. Taste again the chill wind of death.”

Cold.

Even before Noct opens the path, the chill wind of Shiva ghosts across the land.

Noct walks forward, tendrils of ice forming at his feet with each step he takes as white winds sweep across the dark scene. Gentiana appears at his side, her smile tinged with the barest hint of sadness even as she takes the lead, shedding the raiments of her human form and taking to the air.

The corrupt vessel struggles, even as his limbs freeze and the fire within his eyes dies. He is frozen even as he reaches forward to grasp that which he shall never hold again.

Shiva approaches, slowly, giving time for her power to fully take hold. Finally, the fallen Astral grows still, his fires laid to rest once more within the  embrace of glacial cold.

With all the care of a lost love, Shiva places her lips to those of the Infernian’s before gliding back, holding his frozen gaze for just a second more as she watches him crumble within the storm of her power.

“Rest, my love. May your soul know peace at last.”

Twisting within the air, she descends gracefully through the currents of her winds, until she floats just before Ignis.

Noct steps forward, meaning to intercede, unsure of what is happening, but a simple raise of Ignis’s hand stops him.

Gentiana reaches toward him, her hands gently cupping his face as she meets his gaze.

“O worthy successor of Ifrit. Accept the power once denied to you.” She leans forward, touching her forehead to his, and once again Ignis is burning, but this time he embraces it. The power that was his, that he always should have wielded, is finally within his grasp.

Gentiana retreats, turning to face Noct once more, a true smile finally alighting on her lips even as she fades to Diamond Dust.

“King of Kings, the grace of the Gods is with you always.”

All three of his friends are staring at him. Even if he were still blind, he would be able to feel their gazes boring into him. Realising that trying to avoid this conversation would be impossible, he faces them.

“I can explain everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> So there you have it.  
> I have some ideas for a follow up but nothings certain at the moment. What in life ever is?


End file.
